Damn Dixon Charm
by DixonVixen93
Summary: Merle watches Michonne's every move and it begins to take its tole. Even she can't stand tall against the Dixon Charm. Merle/Michonne.


**Hey guys! It's late and I'm writing fic. Woo!**

**Here's a short fic, all about the damn Dixon Charm. Merle doesn't know what he's done by giving Michonne a dosing of it. I own nothing.**

_**Damn Dixon Charm **_

To say that Merle Dixon had a way with women was an understatement. That smug demeanor that told you that he knew that he was right, it just drove women wild. Before the apocalypse, Merle had a different girl in his bed every few weeks or so. He chose to ride the high life and made an ass of himself. He might not have been proud of that to this day, but he still wasn't man enough to admit that he was wrong.

Okay, he was man enough to apologize to Michonne. But that was only because his fascination with her was beginning to get the best of him. He lied to the Governor for her and all because he didn't want to kill her anymore. He shot her in the thigh, and even _that_ got him all hot and bothered.

Merle watched Michonne on her morning routine in the prison. She got up at the ass crack of dawn, normally around the same time that he did. Then she'd head to one of the spacious cell blocks for her exercise. That woman could do fifty pushups in under five minutes; the redneck was in _awe_. Not that he was getting off on that, either…

Then, by the time she was finished with all of that, the other girls were usually up and making breakfast and whatnot. She'd have her crappy coffee and crappy slop for breakfast; then she would go talk to Daryl and Rick, probably conversing about their next course of action to survive in this hellish world. Merle would suggest take Woodbury from the Governor when they finally do kill him, but nobody ever asked him, so…

Michonne noticed Merle staring at her as she was talking to his brother and Rick one morning. Those blue eyes were burning a hole into her, raking her up and down. He had been doing this a lot. Even when they were both at Woodbury, he liked to stare at her. When he did, he always wore that smug smirk of his. It was unnerving, and it had been ever since.

Eventually, she'd give him something to stare at…

The katana-wielding fighter passed him at a brisk pace, to which he caught up with her. "You know, Merle, I'd tell you to take a picture, but since the world has ended, I can't use that excuse."

"Why would I want to take a picture o' ya, girly? I can look at ya all day, if that's what I damn well please," Merle told her, making her stop in her tracks. The redneck just grinned back at her, leaning back on his heels.

"Don't you have a brother to pester or something?" Michonne asked; she seemed impatient, but on the inside he was killing her by being so close. It had been a long time since she had a man in her bed, and damn if Merle Dixon was making it hard to say no.

"Ya don't really mean that, do ya _Mi_-chonne?" Merle teased, emphasizing on the beginning of her name. He had some weird nicknames for her, but they were all a part of his charm. That damn Dixon Charm.

The young woman smirked, stepping that much closer to Merle. "Okay, so let's say I don't," she began quietly, her dark eyes boring into his blue ones. "Let's say I want you to take me back to your cell and have your way with me. What would you say to that?" She tilted her head, as if she was quizzing him on something.

"Hell, woman, I'd say it took ya long enough to come to yer senses," the redneck clucked his tongue, shifting his weight onto his opposite leg.

Michonne didn't say another word. She just scowled at him and brushed past him swiftly, sashaying her hips intentionally.

Merle whistled loudly, still grinning like a fool. Yep. That damn Dixon Charm gets them every time.

o—o—o

Later on during the day, Merle was minding his own business in his cell. Feet kicked up, Hershel's bible in his hands. That was when she came in. The redneck hummed to himself. "I knew you couldn't stay away darlin'."

Michonne came up to him, glancing over his shoulder. "So you're a religious man, Merle?"

"More or less," he shrugged, shutting the book with an audible _thump_. Merle put his feet down and turned his body towards the beauty in front of him. "But, the better question is: what are _you_ doing here, Nubian Princess?"

"That's not really what you want from me is it, Merle? I see the way you watch my every move. Even when we were back at Woodbury, you still watched me like a wild animal would its prey," Michonne began calmly, holding her hand out in front of him. "Now, are we going to do this or not? I'm tired of the sexual tension."

The redneck stared back at the young woman before him, mouth wide-open. "Damn, sweetheart, well iffen yer offerin' like t'at…" He quirked an eyebrow up at her, "what makes ya think that screwin' me this once will make the tension go away?"

"Who says it's just this once?" the woman asked, lowering herself down on his lap.

Merle, careful to use his good arm as he hooked an arm around her waist, met with Michonne's lips for the first time. The kiss was sloppy, but she tasted so good it was hard for the redneck to keep his head together.

She helped him out of his pants to hurry the process along.

"In a hurry, are we, darlin'?" the redneck teased, pulling her shirt over her head. He grinned appreciatively at the purple tank top that was left, not leaving much to the imagination.

Michonne began kissing him again to shut him up. Even though he only had one working hand, damn did he know how to use it. He slipped his hand up her shirt and traced it all across her skin. His touches were delicate, but deliberate. He _wanted_ her to cry for more. And, honestly, he got what he wanted.

Damn Dixon Charm.

**I finished this in about half an hour. Call me crazy at two in the morning. Reviews are loved. **


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